


Stockholm Syndrome

by Lyrar



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Red Eye (2005)
Genre: Abuse, Brother-Sister Relationships, F/M, Kidnapping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23998063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyrar/pseuds/Lyrar
Summary: (Archive of "Stockholm Syndrome" by Ryla)He scarred me for life and nearly killed me, and yet I still love him.
Relationships: Jackson Rippner/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

_I wake up on a table of some sort. I try to move, but I am bound to it. I try to scream, but I am gagged with some kind of cloth. I try to look around, but something is covering my eyes I lay still on the table in hopes of finding this is all a bad dream. I hear footsteps and begin struggling again. I hear a man chuckling._

_He brushes some hair away from my face. He removes the gag._

_“Tell me what the fuck is going on right fucking now!” I demand._

_“Well isn’t someone feisty,” is all he responds with._

_“Please. Just let me go. I don’t want to die. I’m only 14. Please,” I whine trying to seem weak._

_“You can’t play that with me, Irish Bitch.”_

_“Wait ‘til my brothers find out about this they’re going to kick your-”_

_The gag is put back in my mouth._

_“I know you are why I have had to deal with so many corruptions in my assignments, and you need to die for that.”_

_He pulls up the long skirt of my black Victorian dress. He pulls down my panties._

_“But I want to have some fun first.”_

_I struggle knowing what is about to happen. I try as hard as humanly possible to scream for him to stop. I hear the sound of a zipper going down and feel a horrible pain as something enters me. I feel tears burn my cheeks as he continues to move quickly inside me without slowing down._

"Aoife! Wake up!"

I wake up to my brothers shaking me.I shoot up quickly. I begin crying in fear because of the nightmare.

"It's okay, Aoife. It was only a nightmare."

"No it wasn't only a nightmare! It was a fucking memory!"

"Was it about that?" Connor asks me.

I nod.

"Aoife, we are never going to let anyone hurt you again," Murphy tries to promise.

You can't promise something like that."

They both give me a comforting hug.

Also it's noon," Murphy tells me.

"Shit!"

I jump up and dash to my dresser.

"Do you mind?!" I demand.

They both leave my room.

"Brothers."


	2. Chapter 2

I open my drawer and put on a pair of skinny jeans with a black blouse look, at myself in the mirror, and stare at the scars on my face.

I let out a sigh, put on my rosary, and put twenty five dollars in my pocket. I exit my bedroom and enter the kitchen. I slouch in a chair and stare at the table.

"Mornin' Lass! Or shall I say **afternoon** ," Connor greets me.

"Fuck you!" I hiss.

They both chuckle a bit.

That has never been an unusual response from me. It was only more innocent when I was considered too young to curse. Never in my life have I been a morning person.

I stand up from the table, go back to my room, and pick up the brush on my nightstand. I run it through my hair while thinking about how I'm going to tell them I'm planning on moving out.

They both think I am not strong enough to be on my own.

I finish and let out a sigh. I return to the kitchen and sit down at the table.

"Murphy, Connor..." I begin.

The look at me clearly knowing this is going to be serious.

"I want to move out."

"What?!" they both shout standing up.

"I want to move out and choose how I live my life alone! I'm 24 years old! I can handle myself! I'm not seriously hurt anymore!"

"No you're **not** strong enough and you **can't** handle yourself alone!"

"Fuck, I don't have to deal with this!"

I stand up from the table and stomp to the door.

"Where are you goin?" Connor asks me.

"Out for coffee!"

"Alright, just be safe," he responds.

"What the hell could happen walking across the street and into a crowded building?" I ask.

"I don't know, but you should still be safe."

I roll my eyes.

"Fine," I sigh.

I walk out the door and look both ways before crossing the street. I enter the small cafe and walk to the line behind the counter. The door opens and a rather handsome man walks in. It's not all that unusual, but the I here his voice. I more than just recognize it. It's the same voice that haunts my dreams every night.

**_"You can't play that with me, Irish Bitch."_ **

"Miss!" the woman behind the counter shouts at me.

I move to the counter.

"I would like a cappuccino with hazelnut creamer please," I whisper trying to keep **him** from hearing my voice.

She moves to the back to get my coffee.

_Pleasehurrypleasehurrypleasehurry, PLEASE FUCKING HURRRRRRYYYYYYYY!_

She returns with my coffee.

"That'll be $3.75."

I hand her the money and hurry to a table whilst trying to hide my face. I sit down and immediately begin guzzling my coffee. I move my hair for a second to see if he's left yet and am relieved for a moment to see that he is no longer at the counter. That feeling fades away quickly as that voice reaches my ears.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Aoife Macmanus," he says sitting down.

I look down to avoid eye contact.

"What do **you** want?" I hiss at him.

"Isn't bitterness a sin?"

"I look up and growl at him.

"Do not tell me about my religion."

He laughs.

"Still so fucking feisty, but more sexy."

His eyes move to my breasts which have grown a bit in the last ten years.

"Hey!" I shout crossing my arms across my chest to hide them.

"Awww, but I was enjoying the view."

I finish my coffee and stand from my chair.

As I try to run past him he grips my arm.

"Uh-uh. You're mine this time, and I'm not going to be nice enough to try to kill you this time."


	3. Chapter 3

I enter the house only because I know he'll hurt me in some way if I try to run.

He already told me his name. Jackson Rippner. It fits him. Close to the name of a sick, twisted killer.

He walks in and shuts the door behind him. He turns to me.

"We should talk about rules..." he begins.

I swallow hard.

"First, you won't try to leave, but I'm sure you know that already. Second, if you don't like something, too fucking bad because if you try to tell me, I will punish you. Third, do everything I tell you-"

"So I'm your personal slave?!"

He slaps me.

"What was the second rule?" he asks glaring down at me.

"I-if I try to tell you I don't like something, you will punish me."

"Your lucky you only got slapped. Now three, don't try to tell anyone what's going on. Four, if you want to make a phone call, tell me and I will listen to every syllable you say. Finally, don't talk back to me. Got it?"

I nod.

"Don't just fucking nod!"

He lifts my face so I am making eye contact.

"Yes, Jackson!"

"Good girl."

"M-may I ask you something?"

"You just did."

"Something other than that."

"Yes."

"Where will I sleep?"

"In my room upstairs and to the left."

"I'd rather sleep on the couch," I immediately bite my tongue.

"Did I say you have a choice?"

"No," I whimper. 

"You're sleeping in **my** room in **my** bed with **me**. Got it?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Oh, and I forgot to tell you one other rule. You're going to be wearing whatever I want you to wear to bed and sometimes all day."

My eyes widen because I know what that means. He's going to make me dress like a whore. I feel my heart drop and my stomach flip.

He laughs at me.

I try my best not to slap him.

"M-my I call my brothers? Please?" I whimper.

He looks at me for a moment.

"Sure."

I pull out my cell phone and dial Murphy's number. I hold the phone to my ear and wait for Murphy to pick up. I feel tears well up when I hear a voice mail.

"H-hi, i-it's Aoife, I just called to t-tell you I will b-be g-gone for a while and I d-didn't want y-you to w-worry. Bye, love ya."

I hang up and put my phone in my pocket.

"M-may I sit down?" I ask in a teary voice.

"Sure."

I collapse on the couch and begin crying.


	4. Chapter 4

I wake up the next morning laying next to that monster known as Jack Rippner. He was kind enough not to force me into a latex catsuit right away, rather I'm wearing a silky and short nightgown. While the outfit still isn’t exactly dignifying, it is only somewhat different from my ordinary nightwear. The only reason I feel a need to curl up and hide is because of the bare arms invasively wrapped around my body. As I wriggle, Jackson wakes up enough to grunt at me.

“Wait a minute, I'm not ready yet,” he says sleepily,

“Just let me clean the house or some shit,” I growl in response. “Anything to get me up and out of this fucking bed.”

He chuckles lowly before I shove my way up from him. I’m half tempted to see if I'm brave enough to gouge an eye and escape, but decide against it when I think of my brothers.

“Where are you going?” Jack demands from behind me.

“To the fucking bathroom to take a shower,” I bark, slamming the bathroom door hard.

Suddenly, with the door between me and that lazy bastard, I start regaining feeling. My throat tightens with a harsh and loud sob. I know he’s just laughing his ass off or some evil something in the next room. Either way, it’s in the next room and I’m separate, so it doesn’t matter. I can just let it out and think while Jack believes I’m weak.

So, now I'm in a bathroom, trying to form the perfect escape plan. Makes me wonder if that poor Reisert woman was damaged enough to pass on some deja vu. Sighing, I turn on the water and sit on top of the toilet to stare at the wall pensively. The racket made after leaning back to the clutter behind me practically sends me jumping out of my skin. Once I am calm and collected, I notice one piece of the clutter that may actually be really fucking useful: a spray bottle. Now, any normal human being keeps chemicals of some sort in their bathroom, goes double for metrosexuals like Jack. What if some were mixed into this plastic bad boy? Chemical burns always hurt anyone. I swing the white door of the cabinet open to immediately find bleach powder in the front of it. With a slightly evil grin, I yank it out and take the spray bottle to the shower.

The silky nightgown I was wearing is tossed over my head and I step into the shower. The white powder fills half of the bottle. I know damn well I don’t need to fill it so much, but I want this fucker to hurt. Well, that idea does a gymnastic leap right out the window not but a few minutes later:

He finally decided to get his ass up to barge his way into the tight space right along with me. For a moment, I do get to face the wall and cover my work, put off the pain he’ll bring on me for trying to melt his face off. Then, I drop it. The white powder went all over the floor and there was no hiding anything. Once I was shoved into the wall, I swore I felt a rib crack.

“Still a murderous bitch as always, huh? Just like when we were kids,” he growled, pulling my red hair tight.

“We? I was a kid, you were a big time fucking assassin!”

“I was three years older. Believe it or not, there isn’t generally an age of consent in that sort of business.”

“So, what’s the plan here, Jack?” I scoff. “Are you just going to throw me around like a ragdoll and abuse me and shit?”

“Depends,” Jackson hums, turning me to face him. “Are you going to apologize?”

My first instinct is to spit some off-the-top-of-my-head insult, but I stop myself. I decide to spit

something else…  
“Oh…” I soften my tense muscles to look meeker, “I guess if it’s that easy. You don’t just want me to say it, do you?”

He smirks enough for me to take it as a yes, so I nod and wait for him to let me go. I put on a seductive smile and nudge his chest just enough to hint for him to step back and give me room to kneel to my knees. He looks down at me and lets out a laugh that brings more violent ideas than my more tongue-in-cheek plan in mind right now. I want the moment to be over immediately, but things like this take time. God damn, do I have to risk crunching his organ between my teeth when its done. Popping up immediately, I spit his fluid in his face and watch in amusement as he grimaces. Quickly, though, I pop open the shower door and run out of the room. The only thing I grab to cover myself is a blanket before I run for the door. The blanket falls away a bit after. No, it didn’t fall. Jackson’s hand tore it away from my body and gripped my arm to throw me down for the hundredth time today. My last line of defense is to grab a pen from the table next to the sofa, but he knocks that away, too.

He hits me hard enough across the face to ring my ears and stops to pull at his wet hair, hissing, “Fuck!” He keeps pacing around and sighing in frustration. “Why can’t you just behave?! What the fu-... No, no…” He pulls my cell phone from the drawer of the side table and forces it into my face and demands, “You wanna avoid some leg-breaking, finger-chopping shitstorm? Call your brothers back. I was hoping letting you call would take the heat away, but they’ve been blowing you the fuck up since I locked this thing up.”

With a glare, I take the phone. Every single name seems like a close friend, now that I may never click on a single one but my brothers’. My eyes twitch to look around nervously as it dials Connor’s contact and I catch that prick rolling his eyes at how my eyes are watering. Like I have any control over the fucking thing.

“Aoife!” Connor barks at me. “Where the fuck are you?”

“I, I, I,” I stammer, not sure how to answer. Then, I remember what to do, “I’m at the bar.”

Connor goes silent, but returns with a much calmer tone. “The bar?”

“The bar.”

“You gonna need a ride back home?”

“Might. I’ll give you a call.”

Soon after that, I hang up and slide the phone onto the table. Jackson picks it up and slams it back into the drawer, locking it. Lockpicking isn't that hard, so I keep calm about it. A lock won't hurt my plan too much. Jackson leans in close to my face, causing me to lean back.

“You,” he began harshly, “don’t wear a goddamned stitch today. I’m heading out, make sure it’s fucking pristine when I get back if you want that to change.”


End file.
